


Unsent Holos

by Moontyger



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 06:12:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6599917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moontyger/pseuds/Moontyger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Han and Leia spent years apart after that final fight, but that didn't mean they didn't think about each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unsent Holos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ishie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishie/gifts).



The lights were off in Leia's room when she finally made her way to it, her steps unsteady with exhaustion and the thousand little aches and pains that she felt more and more these days, especially after she'd been working too hard. She didn't bother to turn them on, navigating around the furniture from memory until she found a comfortable chair to collapse in. She didn't need light to unpin her hair and crawl into bed.

In the dark, it was easier to pretend Han was still there.

So many times, she'd come home just like this: tired and frustrated from a long day of endless meetings with cantankerous politicians. It had been far easier for the Emperor to destroy the Republic than it proved to be to put it back together. Somehow, when she'd imagined a future without the Empire, she hadn't pictured that.

Han almost never went to those meetings with her, not because he wasn't good at negotiations, but because he didn't have the patience for it. If Leia had left it up to him, they'd be making government decisions via sabacc and, while sometimes tempting, that was hardly the basis for the sort of stability their New Republic needed. The previous one had lasted thousands of years and Leia was determined that this one would do no less.

He wasn't always there when she got home either; sometimes he was on a mission or out with Luke or Chewie. But other times, she'd be sitting here just like this: head tilted forward and hair parted over either shoulder as she pressed her fingers into the sore muscles at the base of her skull, when he'd turn on the lights and smirk at her as she squinted and blinked against the sudden illumination.

Han was never repentant in the slightest, but Leia never expected him to be. Besides, often he made up for it by rubbing her shoulders. She never would have expected it, but Han gave great shoulder rubs: he knew just where to dig in his fingers to loosen the aching knots and give her relief from tension so habitual that she'd ceased to consciously register it.

After, she'd be so warm and relaxed she felt almost as though they had a hoverbed, resting on air instead of the hard, sensible floor. While Leia felt like that, she could forgive him anything. But then, hadn't she always forgiven Han? Not always easily – her father used to say no one held a grudge like Leia - but she did it just the same.

This time was no different. It had felt so, when he'd left. Their arguments over Ben had been so much worse than the ones that had come before. Because he was their son, or maybe just because Luke wasn't there to smooth things over, talk both of them into seeing the other side. Leia had always hated seeing Han leave, but this time, she'd hardened her heart and told herself it was fine if he didn't return; she didn't _want_ him to.

Sitting here in the dark, however, smiling wistfully to herself at the memories, she knew it had been a lie.

She could send him a message. Go over to the holorecorder, send him three simple words: _Han, come home._ She'd almost done it more than once already, and he hadn't even been gone a full year.

Maybe tonight will be the night she does more than just think about it. But probably not. Because if she sent it and he didn't reply, she'd know he didn't want to come back to her, and that's the one thing she didn't think she could bear.

* * *

Han always said that no matter where he technically lived, the Millennium Falcon was his real home. Let others claim planets and speak wistfully of homeworlds, longing for sky of whatever color above their head and solid ground beneath their feet. Han didn't need any of that. Sure, there were bigger ships and the Falcon didn't look like much, but all he had to do was climb aboard to feel instantly at home, reminded at once of who he had always been.

He'd always said it and it had always been true – that is, until now.

Sure, it still reminded him of who he used to be, but now that was one thing he didn't want.

Leia had spent too much time on her, that was the problem. He'd redone parts of the interior to make Leia more comfortable, even added a child-sized seat when Ben was still living at home. He'd ditched the chair right off, trashed it rather than even trying to sell it, but the rest of it wasn't so easy to erase. Leia was part of the Falcon now, like she'd imprinted herself on the paint and the furniture. Sometimes Han would even swear it smelled like she was aboard, like the Falcon herself missed Leia and went out of her way to remind him.

For the first time he could remember, just him and Chewie felt _lonely_. He didn't know how he'd let that happen, let someone else become so much a part of his sense of how the universe ought to be, but as much as he'd thought he'd get used to being on his own again, he still couldn't entirely shake the feeling. Space was a cold and empty place; he'd always known that, but lately, he felt it.

Chewbacca told him he should forget those final fights, just fly back in like nothing had happened. He told Han he was being an idiot, acting like he was still a stupid, cocky kid who thought he'd find something better on the next planet or maybe the one after that when by now he knew damn well he wouldn't. He pointed out that Han knew how to get Leia to forgive him if she were still mad; reminded him of all the times he'd done it in the past. Called Han a stubborn old fool, too, especially when he caught him up in the lounge instead of sleeping, playing holochess all night rather than face a bunk that sometimes seemed to almost taunt him about who wasn't there.

He was probably right, of course. Riding high after a big score, a tricky caper pulled off like it was easy, Han was certain he was. _Did you see that, Leia?_ he'd think, imagining her hearing about it from one of her aides, or maybe even on the HoloNet. _This old man's still got it._ Times like that, he'd think he could just fly back into her life, give her his old smug grin, and she'd never be able to turn him away.

Yet while he thought that, might have even claimed he believed it if someone had asked, Han never acted on it. Because the truth was, for the first time in their entire relationship, he _wasn't_ certain. They'd crossed a line somewhere, or maybe just he had, and even though his whole life had been about crossing lines, he didn't know how to back away from this one.

So he imagined it: the triumphant return of the prodigal, complete with showy landing, swelling muscial score like some cheesy holovid, followed by a passionate kiss that said all was forgiven, but that was all he did. Because as long as he didn't actually try to go back, as long as he didn't send a holo or even ask someone about Leia, he _could_ dream. If he lost that, if in the end his dreams faded like his fast reflexes and the family he'd once been almost surprised to find he wanted, Han wasn't sure there'd be anything left of him at all.


End file.
